#have i really not progressed past that!!!!!!! has all of my efforts just been to improve this fucking shell and not who i actually am!!!!
Hi people. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a fanfic and I thought i’d put a feeler out there to see if people are interested in reading my silly little brain worms and thoughts. Word of warning, it’s little rusty and definitely still a work in progress. I don’t yet have a title or anything like that, but i wanna share (ok ok leave me alone)
Part one: Soft.
Reader described as plus-sized. Fem reader. Implied past abusive relationship.
John Price X Reader.
“Amelia, I said no!” I huff into the phone, getting increasingly frustrated at my best friend’s insistence. She had been going on and on about some big military party that her boyfriend was going to, and of course, because we’re basically attached at the hip, she ‘needs me there’.
“Oh, come onnnn! It’ll be fun! And who knows, we might finally find you a man for you to spend time with instead of you sitting in your apartment and watching reruns of gilmore girls twenty-four-seven.”
I huff and roll my eyes, grateful that she isn’t able to see me. Honestly, the thought of having to drag myself off of my couch and go through the motions of getting ready and attempting to doll myself up makes me feel physically ill. Truth be told, I haven’t left my apartment for weeks. Not since i had that god-awful night with my arsehole of an ex boyfriend.
My mind drifts back to that night, the time I spent getting ready and psyching myself up, all for me to get there and be completely disregarded and used. Like a piece of meat. He’d been blowing up my phone with messages ever since, insisting he was sorry, and that it won’t happen again, and he just got carried away. I hadn’t had the mental capacity to message him back.. My best friends voice pulls me back to reality.
“You’re coming. I’ll be at your flat in twenty minutes with pre drinks. Shower and shave.”
Before I get any chance to worm my way out of this ridiculous ordeal, she kisses me good-bye through the phone and hangs up. I throw my phone to the opposite end of the couch and groan into a pillow. Just when I was settled, watching gilmore girls for the umpteenth time, with a glass of wine and a bowl of crisps… Shit, maybe I do need to get out…
I down the rest of my glass of wine and wince at the taste. I make a mental note to stop being cheap and buying shit wine just because it’s cheaper. After all, it’s not like I can’t afford to buy nicer tasting wine. But truthfully, I don’t go to tescos at 8pm in my pyjamas and buy nice wine to be all sophisticated. I do it to buy cheap wine and get drunk while i watch gilmore girls and cry, wishing i had the same relationship with my mother that Lorelai and Rory have. It’s pitiful, and pathetic.
I huff and drag myself off of my couch and make my way into my bathroom to shower. Once undressed, i notice just how hairy my legs have gotten. But, is it really worth the effort, the sweating and red face just to have smooth legs? I brush off the thought and step into the hot shower. I do my usual: wash and condition my hair, wash my face and body, and then actually decide to shave my goddamn legs. It takes me the better part of fifteen minutes, but beauty is pain, as they say.
Just as i’m stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that’s all too small to cover my stomach and wide thighs, my best friend makes herself known, clearly having used her spare key to let herself into my flat. Her face is all scrunched up in disgust at the state of the place and she’s begun to pick up my clothes that are strewn about the place, throwing them into the washing machine. I roll my eyes and make my way into my bedroom, and she follows. She has that shit-eating grin on her face that I know all too well. No doubt she’s going to make me squeeze into some tiny outfit in the hopes i’ll impress some random man and hopefully let him fuck my brains out. She’s highly mistaken.
Instead of a skimpy outfit, we compromise. I end up wearing a mid-length silk dress that has a risky slit up the leg, but not too high that it shows off my cellulite, one of my biggest insecurities. She does up my hair into a messy bun with a few curls framing my face and insists on me wearing her favourite red lipstick, telling me i’ll look ‘fuckable’, her words, not mine. After strapping some heels onto my feet I take one last look in the mirror, face slightly flushed from the two or three glasses of wine Amelia practically poured down my throat to loosen me up. I should feel beautiful, but I don’t. I can’t help but feel like a pig, wrapped in silk and smothered in ridiculous lipstick. Ready to be taken off to market and ridiculed by men that think it’s shameful to like a fat girl. My ex-boyfriend’s attitude and words from the duration of our relationship echoing around my head.
“They don’t see you like I do, babe. They don’t see your personality.”
“You’re wearing that?”
“Oh come on, babe. I was only looking at her. She’s a model, what do you expect?”
After a too long uber ride full of pep-talks by Amelia and discreetly drinking from the remnants of a bottle of wine, we’re standing outside of what can only be described as a fucking mansion. The type that has stairs leading up to its entrance that’s held up by beautifully structured pillars, the type of place i write about in my short stories. There are too many windows to count, most of them lit up by subtle golden glow, the soft buzz of music that’s able to be heart from outside, something soft and jazzy, like the type of music you’d hear in an old jazz bar in New York.
I’m too busy marvelling at the ‘fucking mansion’ in front of me when I hear the recognisable voice of Amelia’s boyfriend, Johnny. Johnny is the type of guy that can make any girl weak in the knees with his charming smile and sparkling blue eyes. He’s sweet and cheeky, but not my type.
“There you two are! Was beginning ‘ter think ‘yaes got lost.”
I give Johnny a polite smile and continue looking up at the grandeur of the building in-front of me while he gives Amelia a kiss and whispers something flirty in her ear. Johnny and Amelia are solid, and he’s good for her. Plus, he knows we come as a package deal, so he makes sure to make me feel included when I end up tagging along on their days out or evening drinks.
“Looking good, bonnie.” Johnny says to me, with a cheeky wink. Amelia laughs, her signature sweet giggle, and it’s clear why she turns heads everywhere we go.
I force a smile and hold back a self-deprecating remark.
“Thanks, Johnny.”
Amelia takes Johnny by the arm and leads her inside, making me follow like an awkward third wheel. I try my best not to feel like an idiot as i’m led into the main ballroom, where i assume the party is being held. Johnny leads us to the bar and buys the three of us a round of drinks. I try to insist that I can buy my own, but both he and Amelia dismiss it and i’m left with a blueberry Martini sitting in front of me at the bar.
After a few minutes of awkward small talk between the three of us, mixed in with too much PDA between Johnny and Amelia for my liking, Johnny leads Amelia off to meet some of his friends, leaving me alone at the bar. I hoist myself onto a barstool, arse spilling over the edge. Fuck sake, I think. People need to start inventing barstools that are fat-girl friendly. I ignore the buzz of chatter in the ballroom and down the rest of my blueberry martini, flagging down the bartender for another one.
I begin sipping on the fresh Martini and start looking back around the room. I can’t help but think this would be a perfect scene to write in one of my stories. A room packed full of rich people dressed in fancy suits and expensive dresses, where everyone pretends to be on their best behaviour.
After a few minutes of being alone at the bar, I make peace with the fact that I will likely be alone for most of the night while Amelia mingles with Johnny and his friends. It doesn’t bother me, per say, but something deep within my belly wishes that one, just once, I could be the one to turn heads, to capture the attention of a group of people with nothing but my appearance and laugh, to have people willing to talk to me and learn about me, without feeling like it’s out of pity.
I shrug to myself and take a few more sips of my martini and let my attention wander over to my best friend and her boyfriend, and his group of (presumably) military friends. Johnny must’ve noticed me sitting alone at the bar and felt pity for me because I see him making his way over, sporting his disarming smile. I smile back.
“What’s the matter, Lass? Not enjoying ‘yerself?”
He leans on the bar casually, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to make me feel included.
“I’m enjoying myself just fine, Johnny. You can go back to your mates and Amelia, don’t worry about me.”
He cocks a brow and flashes that cheeky grin.
“Not gonna join us?”
I shake my head and take another sip of my martini, waving a dismissive hand. I attempt to play it off with a joke.
“Doubt i’d fit in with your military mates.”
He scoffs and looks jokingly offended.
“Aye, come on, Bonnie. We don’t bite. I know Si looks like a scary fucker, but we’re a nice bunch. I swear.”
I laugh and take another sip. Johnny is a good guy, there’s no denying that, even if it does feel like he’s taking pity on his girlfriends fat, single friend that looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.
Judging from the way he talks about ‘Si’, I make an assumption that he’s the one with the dirty-blonde hair, the one who’s built like a brick shit-house and looks like he could snap anyone in half with one hand.
Johnny points to one of the other lads, a typical pretty boy with striking brown eyes.
“That’s Gaz. He’s a good’un. Likes to flirt too much, but e’s harmless.”
I follow Johnny’s finger as he points to the third man. A man who’s wide, and fucking muscly, but looks like he has a soft layer of fat underneath that expensive suit of his.
“And that, that’s the Cap’n. The best of us all. Keeps us in check when we cause trouble. He won’t admit it, but he’s a softie at heart.”
My eyes stay on the wide man a little longer than the others. I see a smile under his well-groomed mutton chops and moustache that’s peppered with little greys here and there. His shoulders look like they’re about to burst out of his shirt at any given moment, and his hips are exactly the same. That’s all contrasted by his blue eyes, like a deep pool that women no doubt get lost in. The man’s a fucking contradiction. Too wide, Too soft.
Johnny’s voice snaps me back into the room, averting my eyes away from the man I know as ‘Captain’.
“Come on, Bonnie. Come say hello, mingle a little. We don’t bite.”
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so like. after i realized i had adhd it felt like my adhd got worse bc i was seeing symptoms everywhere, but it was really just bc i was paying full attention to it for the first time. now that i know i have autism too, it's doing the same thing, where i feel like its getting worse and harder to manage so i'm going to have to get really good at acting really quickly or i'm going to have to figure out how to not have a mental breakdown when my masking isn't working like it's supposed to
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I don't normally like make requests from people if it's obvious I'm sorry for my awkwardness.
Anyway you were saying how you were really into Jordan li recently so am I and I've read every single fanfiction or every rant there is about them and I crave more. I have been in a angst/fluff mood and I haven't seen anyone do this idea either. I was thinking thinking maybe Jordan and reader gets into an argument (not really picky about what) and the argument gets really heated (you know how jordan shifts into their male form to Intimidate or get their point across) Jordan shifts into their male form which scares reader (I'm thinking reader doesn't have a good past with angry men) and reader backs away from them in fear Jordan notices and tries to comfort them but reader flinched when Jordan touches them. Reader then asks them to leave so they do but Jordan spends like a week trying to make the situation better.
(I would also like to put reader isn't scared of Jordan more so the action of the blatant Intimidation tactic they tried to use against reader. Reader is angry that jordan would try to scare them even if it wasn't on purpose it still hurt)
Jordan sorta just spends a week following reader around Like a lost puppy trying to treat reader like a absolute queen even if reader won't really acknowledge them until Jordan has an breakdown while drunk coming to readers dorm begging for forgiveness.
Again if its obvious I don't know how to make requests I'm sorry this has just been on my mind for so long.
A/N: this request is absolutely perfect, and exactly to my tastes. thank you for sending it, doll!
WORD COUNT: 4k+ under cut | hurt/comfort and angst/fluff
It’s hard sometimes, knowing when to push and when to just let Jordan be. Not at all a skill you learned over night. You’d gotten good at the push and pull of bringing them out of their shell back when the two of you had just been friends. Better at it than anyone else, at least. It was a slow process, but every second was worth it.
Now on the good days you don’t have to push at all. A hand on their arm. A coaxing smile or two. Any act of connection, no matter how small, enough to make them tell you what’s on their mind. Even if they scowl the entire time they let it out. It’s the letting it out at all that counts. Progress!
Today you miscalculated. It’s been a bad week. Jordan hadn’t dropped in the rankings, but their points took a small dip. They hadn’t been very active on their socials, busy doing work as Brink’s TA. But the point gap between where Jordan sits at #2 in the rankings, and where Andre sits at #3 is still a wide open chasm.
It’d take something truly disastrous to knock Jordan from the spot they’ve held for three years now. But the rankings are more important than anything to Jordan. No matter how gently you try to bring logic into the situation, Jordan gets irritated quickly, accusing you of not taking it seriously. You often wonder how that could be, considering you’re in the top eight yourself, but you bite your tongue and don’t bring it up.
The group had tried to go out for lunch. It was okay at first, everyone making an effort to ignore the storm cloud Jordan cast over the table as they picked at their food. Then Andre had made some type of stupid joke. Not even about the rankings, but enough to make Jordan snap at him. The situation escalated so quickly that Cate had threatened to take off her glove and make everyone shut up. You paid your portion of the bill and dragged Jordan out before anyone could start up again.
And now you’re here, somehow also on the shit list for not being supportive enough. As if being supportive isn't everything you do. Day in and day out.
“I can’t believe you’re taking his side. You don’t honestly think it was an innocent comment, do you?” Jordan snaps, standing up from your couch to pace the length of your dorm room.
“You know how Andre is. He gets sarcastic when he’s hungover, and he was packing a double whammy. He did coke and got drunk last night. He was just a little off. He wasn’t making a real dig at you.” You defend your friend, knowing Jordan will regret what she said at lunch once she’s calmed down.
“Oh, so we’re all just supposed to tiptoe around his highness? If he was gonna be a dick during the entire thing he should have just skipped coming out with us.” Jordan’s eyes narrow in on your expression, the sudden pursing to your lips and looking away. “What?” She snaps.
You take a deep breath at the tone, “Well, Jordie, if you want me to be honest Andre wasn’t the only one who wasn’t on their best behavior today.”
A beat of silence.
You look up and there goes Jordan rolling her shoulders back, eyebrows practically in her hairline and you sigh. You definitely should have brought up her attitude later.
“You really are taking his side!” She scoffs in disbelief.
“Nope. No, I am not, there are no sides. We’re all friends. Friends fight. I’m just trying to remind you that you actually are friends. You can’t just…” You trail off, uncertain.
“I can’t just what?” She throws up her hands, volume raising.
“You can’t act like this every time the rankings do something that isn’t spectacular for you. I know they mean a lot to you but you can’t take the numbers out on the people who care about you.”
“You just don’t get it-”
“But I do get it! We talk about it all the time. Your feelings are completely valid, the way you react to them isn’t. You’ve been giving Andre looks that could kill all week and he didn’t even do anything. If he was a little snappy at lunch, maybe he’s upset that his friend has been treating him like shit over something he barely cares about.”
“Well if I’m so-” Jordan shifts, pitch of his voice deepening, on the verge of yelling, “-fucking awful why don’t you go run to Andre and cry about it together?”
He only takes two steps towards the couch before you use your powers. It’s instinct, the way the forcefield bubbles up around you.
Whatever Jordan was going to say next shrivels up and dies on his tongue. The only sounds in the room are the quiet hum your powers make when you use them, and the scared, panicked gasp you make from inside the forcefield you put up to protect yourself from him.
There’s a second where the two of you just stare at each other. Both in shock.
“Baby-” Jordan tries taking another step forward, a small, barely there shuffle of his foot. His face falls when the forcefield gets a little louder, glows a little brighter.
Jordan looks close to tears. It’s that expression that pulls you out of the animal state of fear you’d fallen into. You look away from them. Take a few heaving breaths. Do your best to not mix up faces of the past with your present and future.
Your forcefield flickers out slowly. A concentrated effort.
“Fuck, Y/N, I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- I would never ever-'' Jordan shifts again. She rushes too fast into your space to kneel on the ground in front of you, her hands reaching for yours, desperate and clumsy.
When you flinch away, moving so you’re perched on the armrest of the couch, still trying to calm yourself down, she’s left with her hands grasping at air. “Baby, look at me. Please? Look at me, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry that I… I’m sorry. I would never hurt you. I fucking swear I wasn’t-”
“I know, Jordan.” You shake your head, trying to stay calm. “Could you please….leave? I… I can’t calm down right now. I’m trying. I know you didn’t mean to… to scare me, but I need you to go.”
“Baby, wait, fuck. Fuck, wait! I’m sorry. Let’s just talk. I can’t leave you alone like this. I’m sorry.” She’s panicking now, throat feeling like it’s closing up.
She doesn’t try to reach for you again, but her hands feel like they’re burning from the effort it takes to keep them away from you. It’s instinct to hold you, to make it better, to pull you closer. She’s always been the place you run to when you’re scared, the shield you step behind when you need to feel safe. She doesn’t know what to do when you don’t even want to be near her.
“We’ll talk later. I’ll… I’ll have Cate come over so I’m not alone. Just.. leave.” Your voice breaks on a sob, and you’re begging her to leave, and that’s what makes Jordan head to the door, legs shaking. She’s never made you cry before.
She’s glued to her phone the rest of the day, waiting for you to call. You don’t.
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You’ve been best friends since you were freshman. You haven’t gone longer than two days without talking in all that time since. No matter how busy you are. No matter how shitty either of you feels. Jordan doesn’t know what to do with the hours of the day that you usually fill.
She breaks on the second day when you show up to class and move to sit by Luke on the other side of the room instead of with her. You don’t even look at her as you walk by.
Class doesn’t start for another five minutes. The teacher isn’t even here yet, and she’s always late. Jordan moves to get up, already feeling like she’s choking on all the words she needs to say to you to fix this, but is stopped by a firm grip around her wrist. She’s about to snap when she realizes it’s Cate, taking up your usual spot in the seat that isn’t up for grabs because it’s Your Seat.
“Don’t make the situation worse. She just wants to go to class. Don’t hound her, Jordan.”
“Hound her?” Jordan’s voice raises, incredulous. “She’s my girlfriend. I need to talk to her.”
“You need to apologize.” Cate bites. “Dick.”
“That’s what I was trying to do before you stopped me.” Jordan speaks through gritted teeth.
“How about you try apologizing after she’s done all her classes? That way, when you inevitably upset her, she doesn’t hole herself up in her room all day crying. And feel bad about missing class on top of it. You know… the way she spent all of yesterday?”
“She cried all day?” Jordan’s shoulders sag, voice getting smaller.
Cate softens, patting Jordan’s hand. “It’s not just about you, and you know that. Triggers like this really fuck with people. And she’s also pissed that she’s triggered in the first place. Let her cool off.”
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He makes it a few hours before he’s trailing after you.
He can tell by the tension in the line of your spine that you know he’s there. But you don’t outright tell him to get lost, so Jordan can’t stop himself from following you around. Even if you don’t want him there.
He sits across from you as you study in the library. Makes puppy dog eyes at you the entire time. He can’t be bothered to unpack his bag. It’d be useless to pretend he’ll do anything besides watching you.
Two hours in, he gets up and leaves, hating the way your shoulders relax as he turns to go.
He comes back twenty minutes later with your favorite foods and drink from the best local coffee shop. You don’t reach for any of it. He’s always loved how stubborn you are, how you stick to your ideas. Your principles. How steadfastly you make up your mind. Right now he’s just a little terrified of that same stubbornness. Remembers when you’d only been friends, that first year of peeling one another open, feeling each other out.
(“I’ll never do it, Jordan.” You’d whispered vehemently, drunk and mad and beautiful.
“Do what?”
“Be with anyone who tries to fucking cow me into submission. It’s fucked. I won’t do it. I’ve had enough of it.”
You’d passed the bottle you’d just had pressed to your lips and Jordan had tried not to think too hard about it, even when he tasted the remnants of your sticky, sweet lip gloss beneath the vodka.)
He doesn’t get up to leave again until you do.
Jordan walks you to your dorm, but trails a few steps behind you. He tried walking directly beside you at first, but your hands brushed together and the look you gave him was cold enough to freeze blood.
So-
-behind it is.
Jordan doesn’t get the chance to say goodnight before you slam the door in his face as loudly as possible.
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Jordan doesn’t push her luck by trying to walk you to your classes the next morning. She does wake up extra early to buy you the biggest bouquet of your favorite flowers she could find. She leaves them outside your door and goes to class, hoping you’ll at least acknowledge her, the next time you see her.
During your first shared class of the day you walk in holding the bouquet of flowers. Jordan perks up in her seat, holding her breath. You do finally look at her. You make direct eye contact as you throw the flowers into the trash can at the teacher’s desk.
Jordan does not break her pen in half when Andre whispers “yikes” under his breath.
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Two more days and Jordan feels like he’s going insane. He knows you feel worse. One glance at the carefully nonchalant expression you’ve worn all week tells him that. Putting on a mask is nothing for you. That look is the first thing you learned how to do in the top ten.
You’d never hidden the way you felt around him before. Not like this. His skin keeps buzzing with the urge to corner you. Jordan needs the two of you to talk about what happened. But he’s already walking the world’s thinnest line.
And he knows he can’t force you, if you’re not ready.
Another thing he knows: when you’re this upset you don’t clean. Simultaneously, when your room gets messy your depression gets worse. He skips one of your mutual classes of the day and lets himself into your dorm with the key you gave him during first year.
Jordan looks around, wincing at the chaos. You never let it get this bad. Not even during your most soul crushing finals. He starts by throwing away the trash. The tissues you wiped your tears with. The takeout containers. Pages of your notebooks you ripped out, carelessly thrown around the room. You take awful notes in class when you’re distracted. He hates that he’s distracting you.
He wipes down every surface with your favorite scented cleaner. Dusts your books. Sweeps and mops. Changes your sheets and grabs the brightest, happiest color comforter you have stashed in your closet to put on the bed. As he adjusts the pillows he thinks about how often you spend the night at each other’s dorms. Jordan wonders if you’ve been struggling to sleep like he has.
He hesitates, but goes to his room down the hall to grab his cologne. He spritzes it lightly over the bed and hopes you still find the way he smells comforting.
Next is your laundry. He starts up a few loads, irons and puts away the clothes that were sitting in a wrinkled heap on your couch. You’ve always hated doing your laundry.
He’s heading back to your room, a full laundry basket of clean clothes under each arm when you run into each other.
“Are those my clothes?” You ask, forgetting that you aren’t exactly speaking to him in your moment of confusion.
“Yeah… I’m… I was cleaning my room. Doing some stuff. Figured I’d do a few of your loads too, while I’m already at it.” He shoots for casualness, knows he fails miserably.
“You didn’t have to do that.” You say, words stiff and uncomfortable.
“I know I just…” Jordan shrugs, relieved to be standing within a few feet of you after days of silence, and feeling pathetic over how happy something so small makes him. “Why don’t you go get something to eat with Cate while I finish up here?”
“Finish up what?” You ask.
“I still gotta put these away.”
You sigh, wanting the conversation to end, “You don’t have to put my clothes away, Jordan. Or wash them. I’m quite capable of doing it myself.”
Jordan takes a step back when you make a reach for one of the baskets under his arms. “I know that! Just let me do it. Doing your laundry always pisses you off. I’ve got it.”
A battle of wills ignited. You, staring him down. Jordan, trying not to squirm. He wants to try apologizing again but doesn’t know if he’ll only make it worse.
“Please, baby? Go somewhere nice with Cate. My treat.” He puts down a laundry basket (behind him, so you can’t take it) to grab his phone from his pocket, and does something you can’t see.
When you hear the particular chime your banking app makes when you get a Zelle deposit you roll your eyes. You don’t bother checking your phone and seeing how much he sent. You know it’s too much. But if you say anything he’ll just say you and Cate have expensive tastes (which…true.)
“Maybe you can catch a movie too? I still gotta finish up with your bathroom.”
“Jordan.”
“Just,” Jordan shifts, putting down the other laundry basket and slowly reaching out to grab your hand with hers. She could almost cry when you let her touch you. “I know you’re fucking pissed at me. And I know you’re still too upset to talk about it. But…. fuck, please just let me take care of you. Please. I have to do something. I can’t just sit around, after I made you feel like this. It’s driving me nuts. I’m supposed to-”
You stop her, putting a hand on her cheek and sighing, “Okay, Jordan. I’ll go hang out with Cate while you finish.”
“Don’t ‘hang out’, go get dinner. You haven’t eaten all day.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” She says, sullen and staring up at you, playing with your fingers while you’re still letting her touch you, the first time in days.
“I’ll head to Cate’s.”
“Nah, head to Luke’s. They’re studying together right now.” Jordan takes a risk, stepping into your space slowly, giving you the time to move away. She leans in and kisses your cheek, gentle. When you don’t move away she can’t help herself, kisses the edge of your lips too.
You don’t kiss her back, but you give her hand a squeeze as you pull away. You stop halfway down the hall before you turn back to look at Jordan. “Call Cate and tell her she better not be fucking Luke by the time I get to his dorm.”
Jordan laughs. Your face is a little more relaxed as you turn away this time.
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On Friday the group goes out to the club. They chose one of your favorite haunts, hoping it would entice you enough to join. You still declined the invitation. Everyone knew you would. They still wanted to try.
You claimed you had a lot of work to catch up on.
“She hates me. She fucking hates me.” Jordan groans into his hands, already three drinks and two shots in.
“Well, let’s not panic.” Luke says.
“Or be dramatic.” Andre snorts, taking a shot of his own. “You two are obsessed with each other. Relax.”
“Relax?!” Jordan tenses, “My girl won’t fucking talk to me. How am I supposed to relax?”
“She talked to you yesterday.” Andre drawls.
“That wasn’t anything. We usually-”
“-Spend every free second of the day together? We know.” Luke teases. When Jordan doesn’t even smile he winces and slides him another shot.
“She’s not even that mad. She’s more upset than anything.” Cate says, cuddling into Luke’s side.
Jordan’s eyes follow the movement and he swallows at the distinct lack of your own weight leaning into him. You always get touchy when you’re tipsy. Climbing on top of him, clinging to him like glue. It’s his favorite part of nights out together. That and the playful booing you guys get from the group.
Andre cuts back in, “I’m serious, dude. Relax! You guys have been together for how long now-”
“Three years.”
“-yeah, exactly. Since the fucking building of the pyramids. You two will be fine. She knows you didn’t mean anything by it. One fight won’t kill you.”
“This wasn’t a fight, though. I fucked up! You didn’t see the look on her face. When she used her powers… I mean, fuck! You know? She was scared of me.”
“You know that’s not true, Jordan.” Luke protests.
Jordan runs his hands through his hair, ruining the carefully slicked back style.
“Let’s just get you another drink. Come on, dude.” Andre wraps an arm around Jordan, hauling him to his feet and pulling him towards the bar.
⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊⬈⬊
You get woken up by the sound of knocking on your door. Loud knocking. You keep your eyes closed, hoping whoever it is will go away. You don’t even want to be awake. Let alone socializing.
The knocking gets louder. Exhausted, you drag yourself out of bed. You glance at your phone on the bedside table as you get up. It’s three in the morning. Now you’re exhausted and pissed.
You stomp over to the door, wrenching it open, prepared to cuss someone out. You deflate when you see who it is. “Oh, hey.”
Jordan is leaning heavily on the door frame, staring at you with watery, red eyes. She looks like the walking dead. “Baby. Fuck, did I wake you up? I thought you’d still be awake. You said you were pulling an all-nighter.”
“I was tired. Just wanted to sleep.” You shrug. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Still at the club, took an uber back. Too fucked up for anything else.” She mutters.
“That’s good, Jordan.” You say.
“You haven’t called me Jordan since freshman year. What happened to Jordie?” She sighs.
Your face softens. “Baby…”
“No, wait, just let me…” Jordan leans her forehead against the door-frame, closing her eyes tight. “I’m sorry. I fucked up big time. I’m sorry that when I get pissed I take it out on everyone around me. I’m sorry that I don’t fucking listen when you’re just trying to make me feel better. I’m sorry I yelled… I’m sorry I shift-”
“Whoa, hey.” You cut her off, shocked. “You shifting isn’t the problem, Jordan. Fuck, come inside, honey.” You say, taking her hand and pulling her inside.
You sit the two of you on the couch, clicking on the light so you can see each other. You move so you’re facing each other, pulling her hands into your lap. “First off let’s set one thing straight. You shifting is never the problem, okay?”
“You got so fucking scared.” Jordan looks away, hair falling into her face.
“Not of you.. Just the fucking… optics of it! I don’t ever want you to be something you’re not. And you’ve got the incredible gift of being able to be whatever you feel like being any time you want to.” You reach out and touch her cheek, guiding her to look at you, “I don’t want you to not do that. I wouldn’t ever want you not to do that, okay?”
“Okay.” She says. There’s a moment of silence, then Jordan shifts. He looks for any sign of fear or hesitation, holding his breath. When he doesn’t see any he relaxes. “But I scared you so bad you used your powers.”
“Yeah, that did happen.” You nod, caressing his cheek with your thumb, “Maybe it’s just a little scary when someone bigger and stronger than me starts yelling like that. Also, invulnerable. Let’s not forget that. Food for thought.”
He closes his eyes, “I’m an idiot.”
“For yelling at me? Yeah, just a little. Don’t yell at me like that no matter what form you’re in. That's always scary. Couples talk. They don’t yell. Most of the time. We can’t be the couple that does that.”
“I’ll never yell like that again. Either form. I promise.” Jordan says, “Can I hold you? It’s been a fucking week. I’m losing my mind.”
You laugh, climbing into his lap and Jordan sighs, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. He tucks your head into his neck. “I missed you like fucking crazy.”
“Missed you too.” You sigh, “Stay the night?”
“You’re not leaving my sight for the next two months.” He laughs, pulling you closer.
“Only two months? That’s fucked up, I thought you missed me.” You tease.
“Shut up.” He scoffs, kissing the side of your head.
You snuggle closer, letting the tension of the week drift away.
“You yell at me like that again and your only hope is being invulnerable, actually. I’ll put you through a wall.” You kiss his shoulder cheerfully.
“I’d do it before you got the chance.”
You burst into laughter and he pulls your head away from his shoulder so he can see you the way you’re supposed to look around him. Happy. Content. He can’t stop himself from kissing you. You can’t stop yourself from kissing back.
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I love your hcs for modern au! mizu, could you possibly write some headcanons relating to her getting into a relationship?
(A/N: YIPPIEEEEE AN ASK!! Omg I think this would be interesting and there's a bunch of other HCs on this but imma put my own spin on it ^^)
Possible TWs!!: Mentions of sex, internalized homophobia, sexisim, racisim, grooming (??)
~~~
Ok so first of all yeah, I wanna flesh out her past relationship with Mikio in this AU. I think it would be important in shaping Mizu's view of her future S/O.
So, as I said in my last post she probably met Mikio when she was in University, he would probably be a teacher or something. Lowkey, considering the age gap, in this AU he would have probably either been some kind of forced relationship like in the canon or he groomed her in some way.
Either way, it made moder!Mizu really wary of kindness, now viewing everyone who is nice to her as a threat.
I'm also basing her trauma responses based on my own so I hope this isn't too OOC, I'm just tryna work off of what I know lol
So when you came into her life (probably introduced by Ringo because he's a cutie patootie ray of sunshine), she was more than skeptical.
It'd be rocky. You'd try to talk and she would only give short, curt answers. Much like canon Mizu.
It'd probably take a consistent half a year of talking to her for her to finally crack. Either that or you'd do something really nice for her like caring for her whilst she was sick or prepared something for her birthday or something of the likes. Either way, you'd have to really make an effort to befriend and win her over, it's more of a her problem then a you problem.
But once her initial coldness has melted away you find a pretty sincere, caring woman. She's only strict with you if she cares. If she doesn't I believe she's the kind of person who would probably just go "eh, whatever" if you did something stupid. But if she cares she'll be like "DO NOT DO THAT".
She'll realise she's in love probably while she's sick lol
Like, she'll see you helping her at her worst, holding her hair back whilst she throws up or something and be like "...oh my god".
Mizu wouldn't confess too soon after realising, she'd take her time to really think about it. Was she ready for a potential heartbreak? Was this worth it? You might find that she'll pull away a little as she thinks. It isn't intentional, but it will probably happen.
You'd probably have to confess first.
She'd secretly be elated but she wouldn't show it too much at first. Actually, she'd be hesitant to show positive emotions at all in the beginning. But as your relationship progresses she realises you aren't like Mikio. You aren't there because of some made up image of her. You're there because you love her. Not an idea of her, but herself, flaws and all.
She's gonna marry you lol.
(A/N: THAAAAT'S IT!!! Also im so sorry for taking so long with this. my gf left me and its my bday today so ive been like moping and playing sdv lmfaoooo. HAPPY NEW YEARS POOKIES <3)
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you had only to look at me—
part one.
bakugou x f!reader
wc: 7.4k+
tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.
even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.
this is a repost.
you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.
he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.
the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.
it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.
and it's — fucking annoying.
at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.
and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.
you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:
i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️
it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?
if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.
you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot
unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.
three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.
except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.
and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.
his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.
three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.
none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.
because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."
suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.
there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.
"what?"
he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.
in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."
a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.
"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"
you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.
you shrug. "didn't feel like it."
he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"
"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"
his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."
now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"
he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.
the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.
alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.
that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.
your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.
does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.
"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."
"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"
he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.
bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.
you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.
his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.
"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.
you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.
standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.
"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."
it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.
bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."
"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.
detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"
your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"
"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"
"you're saying there's no one else that can—"
"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"
things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.
"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."
bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.
you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.
it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?
is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?
this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?
how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.
what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.
furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.
but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.
the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?
it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.
clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.
"since when are they talking again?"
just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.
"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."
bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.
"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"
"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"
his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."
"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"
bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"
"you're watching it right now."
"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”
you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”
“so? got a hot date or what?”
he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.
finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.
it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”
silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”
“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”
“so why didn’t you?”
“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”
“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”
the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.
“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”
“jesus, if i always do this—”
“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.
he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."
"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"
it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.
"you're gonna blow my head off!"
"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"
"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.
"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.
"yeah, well—"
"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.
all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.
you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.
bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.
your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.
fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.
he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.
it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.
only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.
you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.
the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.
katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"
being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —
"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"
and then you are kissing your best friend.
the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.
katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.
it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.
with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.
you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.
it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.
in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —
not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.
"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."
his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.
he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"
"have you?"
he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."
you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"
before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.
he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.
"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."
the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."
you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.
or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.
"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"
the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.
it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."
for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.
determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.
heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.
this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.
"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."
to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.
at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.
he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.
discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?
"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.
deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.
it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.
"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.
katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.
he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.
this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —
"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.
everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.
tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.
"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"
"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."
he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.
"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."
and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.
you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.
it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.
then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.
the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"
and you're annoyed all over again.
"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."
"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"
"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."
"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."
"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"
and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.
when he was losing you, you realize.
"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."
"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"
you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.
"you can't—"
"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."
you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.
there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.
the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."
tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —
he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.
"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.
not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.
the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.
when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.
you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.
"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."
"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."
"sorry i'm late."
"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.
you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.
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overnight sensation. (smau)
✧ character intro: core four
dina x latina masc!reader
✧ summary: in which dina, a small town artist struggling to get her name out there, is set up to work on a song with you, a trap artist from the city who’s progressively becoming more famous each day. despite you and dina having distinct tastes in music, you both make an attempt to form a song together… and maybe a little more than that
overnight sensation masterlist
✧ author’s note: hi everyone! so the idea to create this fic came up in my head one day and i’ve really needed to get it out of my system so…here we are. i also wanted to mention that the reader is latina coded in this! i doubt this fic is going to get any recognition because it’s not abby or ellie but like i said at this point i’m just posting it to get this idea out of my system. however, i’ve made a lot of visuals so far so i hope that makes up for it 🙏🏻 to all my dina lovers out there, this one’s for you.
as of now, we have four main characters in this fic. i know people usually incorporate additional characters too but since this is my first smau series i thought i’d keep it simple.
so aside from reader there’s dina of course, and there’s also jesse and manny who are dina and reader’s producers. and i know it’s unusual to implement manny as a character but the reason why i added him is literally because as long as i’m aware he’s like the only hispanic character in the game LOL but rest assured he’s not a bad character in this fic. you won’t even notice he’s there i promise!!
i don’t have a lot of people on board with me posting this other than my mutuals, but i wanted to thank these two amazing writers and their works that gave me the inspiration to make this fic:
✧ @spaceshipellie for her dina x masc!reader fics (and for responding to my anon post a while back)
✧ @phantombriide’s smau fic ‘and i love her’, by far one of my favorites out there!
i also have to say this fic has by far been the one that i have spent the most time and effort in making out of all of my works, so if y’all enjoy it please like and reblog!! i’ve been working really hard on it this past month so it truly means a lot to me 🤍
with that being said, here is the character intro for overnight sensation:
tags 🏷️: @ourautumn86 @abbyscherry @bababaka @zombholic @aouiaa @whore4abby @lunawonie
let me know if you’d like to be tagged as well!!
(might delete this if it flops though idk)
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Winter Anime Review by Yours Truly 🍄🌻
This season I said I would not watch anything besides dunmeshi. As we can all see... that was a fucking lie.
In total I've started 10 anime (can everyone praise me and be proud of me for being a bit more tame than I was in the fall season? At least it wasn't 20 anime this time).
My reviews are something I make just for fun, and they 100% reflect my own personal tastes. I might give a highscore to shows other people would call absolute trash, and that's okay! To each their own~~ That being said, I do try to make it very informative to aid you in choosing what you might want to check out by adding a summary and a few content warnings along with the actual review.
A little preview: this season has some great romance anime with couples that actually do make progress in their relationship, which is kind of rare for anime couples, always on their "will they wont they" thing, so if anything, i would recommend picking up one of the romances this time around. (And dunmeshi. Watch dunmeshi.)
***This review will include exclusively animes that debuted this winter, so no 2nd seasons or continuing shows from the fall season.
So, without further ado, let's get into it under the read more.
Dungeon Meshi
Summary: Seinen, Fantasy, Gourmet, Comedy
A party of adventurers gets stuck fighting a Dragon even though they are starving and in no shape to survive. In a last ditch effort to make it out alive, mage Falin sacrifices herself to save her brother Laios and their party. She sends them back to the surface but gets eaten by the Dragon. Now Laios and co are in a race against time to save Falin before she gets digested. The problem? They don't have any money for food. The solution? DUNGEON MESHI!!! AH, DUNGEON MESHI!! DUNGEON FOOD!! JUST EAT THE GODDAMN MONSTERS 😋
Rating: 10/10
Review: if you've been following me for 2 seconds or less you already know dunmeshi is one of my all time favorite mangas. And the anime absolutely delivers. The animation is great, the voice acting is great both subbed or dubbed (the english dub AND the portuguese dub are worth it). The comedic bits hit so hard, and we're just at the start but you can already see bits and pieces of a larger and more dramatic story unfolding.
World building is insane. Character design is insane (everyone say thank you Ryoko Kui our goddess).
Not only is the story incredibly well written with no plot holes, the characters are also well fleshed out and three dimensional.
I could sing praises for it for hours, but then it would leave no space for the other shows on this list so I'll stop now.
But if you only have time to watch one anime this season, this one is it.
Content Warning: blood, death, necromancy crimes 🧟♀️
7th Timeloop: the Villainess Enjoys a Carefree Life Married to Her Worst Enemy
Summary: Reincarnation, Fantasy, Romance
Rishe is not new to the reincarnation business. This is her 7th time around. After being accused of crimes she didn't commit and having her engagement to the crown prince broken off in her 1st life she went on to discover that life is full of possibilities and adventures. But, after 5 years, she died. Only to find herself back at the moment the crown prince broke off their engagement. With each life she explores new countries and new possibilities, but in every life, after 5 years, she is caught up in the war waged by emperor Arnold Hein, and is killed. In her 6th life she dies directly by Arnold's blade and in a turn of fate she runs into him in her 7th life, catching his attention, and maybe his heart? Can she prevent her death this time around and finally live a peaceful life?
Rating: 10/10
Review: ah, we all knew the otome reincarnation was coming. This shit is my life source. That being said, even if it wasn't, I would still probably really love 7th Time Loop. It's just that good.
Rishe is a great main character, in all her past lives she was on The Grind. From being a merchant, to a doctor, to a maid, to a royal guard. And now she tells herself she just wants to chill, but this girl simply cannot chill. She is playing mind games with Arnold, trying to figure out what he is planning and how to stop the war from breaking out.
Meanwhile, Arnold is head over heels in love and probably so so full of trauma we still don't know yet. We must protect this dude. I'm very excited to find out more and more about him and what exactly led him to start a war against the world.
The animation is gorgeous, I love the way the eyes are drawn like constellations.
The romance is great and developing at a very nice pace, Arnold is very respectful of Rishe's boundaries for their marriage and overall just a really great guy.
CW: blood, death, kidnapping.
Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!
Summary: Boys Love, Adult Cast, Workplace, Supernatural, Comedy
Office worker Kiyoshi Adachi has gone 30 years of life without ever having his cherry popped. Due to this profound accomplishment, he gains the ability to read minds through physical contact. However, this new skill has only made his life harder and he now hates crowded spaces.
On the way to work, Adachi runs into his colleague Kurosawa, curious about what an outgoing guy like him thinks about, Adachi touches him and finds out that Kurosawa has a crush on someone from their office, looking further he realizes Kurosawa is actually crushing on him.
Rating: 10/10
Review: first of all, if you say "romance + adult cast" you already have my full attention. Add mind reading to the mix to make sure that the main character doesn't have miscommunication problems and i'm at the fucking table eating it up.
This show is incredibly funny, Kurosawa's thoughts about Adachi are always so sweet and/or horny and obsessed, but he is still just a super great guy with great morals and he would never do anything Adachi doesn't want (much to Adachi's surprise because he thought the dude was going to jump him anytime with how badly in love his thoughts are).
Adachi is straight until proven otherwise, and Kurosawa proves otherwise really fast. The pace of their romance is really great, we dont get ten thousand episodes of "will they wont they" and I really appreciate that.
CW: none that i can think of atm. Let me know if you have anything i could add here.
Villainess Level 99: I May Be the Hidden Boss but I'm Not the Demon Lord
Summary: Otome Isekai, Fantasy, School
Yumiella Dolkness is a girl with dark hair and dark magic (characteristics associated with the Demon Lord) and for that she is feared.
When Yumiella was 5 years old she regained memories of her past life in modern Japan, and the game she used to play: Light Magic and the Hero. In it, Yumiella was the secret boss you had to defeat after the Demon Lord. Determined to avoid this fate she applies gamer logic to her life and begins adventuring in dungeons to max her power levels.
Now, 15 year old Yumiella is going to school, where she will meet the true hero of the game. She wants to avoid calling attention and just go through her school years without trouble. But when their power levels are measured in the first day of school, she is measured as a level 99 dark magic user and now even the king and queen have their eyes on her.
Rating: 10/10
Review: you gotta trust me on this one and get through the first ten minutes, I promise it gets so much better after Yumiella is really introduced. They just had to spend a few minutes doing a gag introduction, where you follow the game's hero before you find our beloved villainess. And it was very cool how the opening resemble a dating sim game opening.
Yumiella is great, one of my favorite female leads this season, and that is including frieren and maomao from the fall season animes that are still airing. She is not very aware of all the social cues and has trouble communicating and making friends, but we get to see her inner thoughts and they're always hilarious.
My favorite gag is that dark magic can be used for healing, but the healing process looks fucking grotesque so people would rather not be healed by Yumiella. For some reason that always gets me.
I really fucking hate the 4 hero characters, they're super annoying, but in a "i love to hate them" way, and I love seeing yumiella wipe the floor with their asses without even trying because she is just that overpowered. Most of the anime is just her trying to use just a tiny bit of her power because if she uses her full power people would just straight up die with a simple punch.
CW: blood
Yubisaki to Renren
Summary: ✨️Shoujo✨️, Adult Cast, Romance
(Summary stolen from myanimelist, sorry) Yuki Itose is a hearing-impaired university student whose world has been shrouded with silence since birth. She has lived in the same place her whole life, and rarely interacts with others save for her best friend, Rin Fujishiro. During her commute one day, she meets the silver-haired and multilingual Itsuomi Nagi, a mutual friend of Rin. Unlike most, Itsuomi is unwavering when he learns of Yuki's impairment; this, along with his experiences abroad, fascinates and touches her. After they part, her fondness of him starts to grow. A new world begins to open for both Yuki and Itsuomi as they learn about each other's different lives.
Rating: 10/10
Review: and here we have The Shoujo Of The Season. And it occupies that spot marvelously.
Yuki and Itsuomi are another one of the incredible couples of the winter season. Relationship developing at a very nice pace that isn't too fast and not too slow (like shoujo can be sometimes). Yuki is very inspired by Itsuomi, she wants to see the world and experience new things now that she got a glimpse into his life and realized how big the world is.
I specially love how cool, calm and collected Itsuomi always acts, but how his cousin, Kyouya, lets us know that Itsuomi is really interested in Yuki and just shows it in different ways, like the way his voice gets very affectionate towards her.
The animation!!!!! Wow!!!! So soft!!! So warm!!!! I love it!!!! I'm sure you'll love it too!!!
Sound design is also very good, it's specially interesting during scenes where we cant hear anything because we are on Yuki's point of view. I wish it happened even more often.
I've seen people compare this show with Koe no Katachi but they're very different shows, specially since we get to see most of this one through Yuki's point of view, while Koe no Katachi was not from the POV of the hearing-impaired character and dealt a lot more with issues like bullying and suicide. Yubisaki to Renren is a lot more light-hearted, soft, sweet and overall just a feel good anime.
I am always going to recommend shoujo. Specially when they're as good as this one is. So definitely check this one out.
CW: none that I can think of. Let me know if there is anything I should put here.
The Foolish Angel Dances with the Devil
Summary: Seinen, Romance, Comedy, Supernatural
The angels and the devils are waging a war. Things are not looking so good on the devils' side, so they send Akutsu Masatora on a journey to the human world, to find someone that can aid the demons on their fight.
Akutsu is assigned a seat next to Lily Amane, the cutest girl in class. But when he tries to recruit her to the devil's side he realizes she is not a normal human. Now he must deal with the fact that he is tied to his mortal enemy, an angel, and with the fact that he might be falling in love.
Rating: 10/10
Review: More like,, the foolish devil gets played by the angel.
Akutsu and Lily get into stupid mind games trying to make the other fall in love, all while realizing that "hey, angels/devils arent so bad after all" as they spend more and more time together.
It reminds me just a bit of Kaguya-sama how the main couple wants the other to cave first.
This show is simply hilarious, I was laughing out loud at so many stupid scenes. Some gags do get old a bit fast, but overall it's still going strong and makes up for where it falls short with how badly in love these two already are just a few episodes in.
I'm not sure we'll get a proper confession this season, but it doesnt look like these two will be stuck forever in the "will they wont they" stage like the couple from kaguya-sama.
CW: there is a scene by the end of episode one that is completely played as a joke that has one of the lead characters putting a collar on the other lead and the imagery was a bit disturbing, definitely leaning on non con bdsm themes, it isnt terrible, just felt a bit distasteful to me, but nothing big, i dont think it should deter you from watching this, but watch out for that.
Solo Leveling
Summary: Action, Fantasy
(Synopsis stolen from myanimelist again) Ten years ago, "the Gate" appeared and connected the real world with the realm of magic and monsters. To combat these vile beasts, ordinary people received superhuman powers and became known as "Hunters." Twenty-year-old Sung Jin-Woo is one such Hunter, but he is known as the "World's Weakest," owing to his pathetic power compared to even a measly E-Rank. Still, he hunts monsters tirelessly in low-rank Gates to pay for his mother's medical bills.
However, this miserable lifestyle changes when Jin-Woo—believing himself to be the only one left to die in a mission gone terribly wrong—awakens in a hospital three days later to find a mysterious screen floating in front of him. This "Quest Log" demands that Jin-Woo completes an unrealistic and intense training program, or face an appropriate penalty. Initially reluctant to comply because of the quest's rigor, Jin-Woo soon finds that it may just transform him into one of the world's most fearsome Hunters.
Rating: 8/10
Review: everyday that passes I find myself liking battle shounen less and less. This one is not bad, it is actually quite interesting, it's just not the type of stuff i'm into anymore, I guess.
That being said, if you're in the mood for it, this one if very interesting. Jin woo's life is now completely ruled by this game that allows him to level up, and he is getting a bit fucked in the head by it.
Animation is great, I love when his eyes get all shiny because you know he's gone Beast Mode.
Not a lot of characters introduced so far, but it's still cool to see Jin Woo leveling up on his own. I mean... a show named solo leveling has got to make sure that the solo aspect isnt boring lol.
For some reason tho I still gave it an 8, which is high, so... it's pretty good.
Jin woo is just a bit... generic i guess. Nothing you havent seen before from an isekai male lead.
Also... i miss his haircut from the earlier episodes, his current haircut makes him look even more generic.
CW: blood and gore, body horror, torture, death games. Big and scary god statue that smiles in a fucked up way and kills kills kills.
Drop Box
Animes I either already dropped for a specific reason or will probably drop in the future simply because I wont have time to watch everything I started this season, so among the 10 I started, these are the ones i'm least likely to finish:
Majo do Yajuu
Summary: Seinen, Action, Fantasy
Guideau and Ashaf are an ominous pair, working for a mysterious organization that deals with magic crimes. Guideau is a feral and unhinged girl/genderless beast with a curse she wants to break and Ashaf is her soft spoken and calm companion. They go from town to town looking for witches to defeat and trying to find the witch who cursed Guideau and get their revenge.
Rating: 7/10
Review: I do like this one, I just think that if it comes to it and I dont have time, I wont miss it too much if I never finish it.
The blood and gore are heavy, and that might be the reason why i'm fine dropping it, i'm not that big of a fan of gore.
Other than that tho, I find the two main characters extremely interesting and i want to learn more about them, specially Guideau and her curse and that crazy beast mode she goes on when she manages to put a pause on her curse sometimes.
CW: blood and gore, body horror
Gekai Elise
Summary: Reincarnation/Otome Isekai, Fantasy, Medical, Romance
(Again, stolen from myanimelist) In her first life, the renowned and genius surgeon Dr. Aoi Takamoto was Elise de Clorance, a villainess of noble descent. Elise's selfishness, insolence, and obsessive love for her fiancé—Prince Linden de Romanoff—led to the deaths of her family members and, eventually, herself. Only after being reborn did Elise realize the error of her ways and decide that, instead of ruining lives, she would devote herself to saving them. But a tragic airplane crash robs her of her dreams too soon.
By a miracle, Elise wakes up in her original body before her official engagement to Linden. Recognizing the chance to cherish her loving family and free Linden from an unwanted marriage, Elise wishes to use her advanced medical knowledge to continue down the path of saving lives. In a deal with the emperor, Elise is given only six months to prove that her true place is not on the throne, but rather with the wounded and ailing who desperately need her help.
Rating: 6/10
Review: I'd like to say I dropped this show for personal reasons, not because it is a bad show.
It is definitely not the best otome isekai of the season (7th time loop and Villainess 99 win by a mile), but it is quite good and has an interesting premise. The main couple didn't seem too promising or interesting to me tbh.
The thing that interested me the most was the fact that Elise's original life was as a noblewoman, her second life was as a doctor and then he got a chance to relive her first life and change the mistakes she made.
Unfortunately, I am a med student, and I simply can't watch medical related stuff without nitpicking it to hell and back. Mostly, I try to distance myself from medicine related shows because my life already revolves around it too much, u know. I just need a break from All That when I'm watching my silly little shows, so... i had to drop this one.
Also, the main character was kind of annoying, but that might just be me.
Anyway, check this out if you think it sounds interesting. I might not be the best judge of this one.
CW: plane crash, death, medical procedures, surgery
Gushing Over Magical Girls
Oh boy...
I'm putting the CW before anything else because this one is problematic and I don't want anyone acting like I didn't warn them beforehand.
CW: this is straight up softcore porn and the characters are all middle/highschool aged. The anime revolves around BDSM themes (so many and increasingly worse themes, from simple bondage to pain play, to age play and other stuff), and there is nothing more than that to it, all the character growth is about the characters becoming more and more uninhibited with their sexual preferences. Also extremely dubious consent for all of it.
This is just a hentai disguising as an ecchi. It's fully yuri tho. Small blessings lol.
Summary: Mahou Shoujo, Girls Love, Ecchi, Comedy
I'm tired already so this will be short. Utena is a girl obsessed with magical girls. One day she gets the chance to become a magical girl herself, however, she is fooled and actually becomes a villain. She is made to fight Tres Magia (magical girl group) and ends up realizing she quite enjoys inflicting pain against them.
Review: the animation is good, very clean, the boob physics is not all that bad (what. this is an honest review and the anime is an ecchi. i gotta talk abt the boob physics.)
It is indeed super funny and definitely unhinged.
Plot wise, it is pretty straightforward, girl likes magical girls -> girl finds out she likes to watch magical girls suffering and in pain and moaning (well, not only watch, she does a lot of touching too)
Do I recommend it? No. Am I having fun watching it? Yes, it is pretty funny if you're the type of person who can ignore A Lot of things.
I'll probably favor the other animes tho so this one is very likely to get dropped before the season is through.
Thank you for reading (if you managed to make it this far lol, although this list is definitely smaller than my fall anime list)
If there is any other anime you think I should check out this season leave it in the replies and I might take a look at it and update this review with it!
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Title: Changes
Chapter: 13
Rating: M
Word count: 3614
Warnings: Crocodile and Mihawk are being dicks, ANOTHER damn flashback, language, minor violence.
Chapter Excerpt:
It's been blatantly obvious from the start that Mihawk and Crocodile want nothing to do with him. He doesn't know why he even tried fixing their relationship, they were never going to be three people who got along.
This isn't the Oro Jackson and he's not dealing with someone like Shanks, nor is he dealing with a random stranger or even a member of his own crew. He should have realized all his efforts would go in vain and that Crocodile and Mihawk came to the island with a deep-seated hatred and lack of respect for him embedded in them already. Whatever, it's fine. Buggy's not mad or upset or even disappointed. He's completely fine.
|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|Ch11|Ch12||
At this point, Buggy is unsure of what he can do to improve his relationship with Mihawk and Crocodile. He's tried throwing them a dinner, but that didn't work. He's also tried giving them gifts, but that was another failure and it turns out they're a lot more difficult to please than Buggy thought they'd be. He's at a loss and is unsure what to do at this point to make his two new 'subordinates' like him.
Perhaps his best option is to just be direct and try to talk to them, even though every time Buggy tries to speak to them or do something nice for them, they just push him away or reject him. He can't just leave his relationship with Crocodile and Mihawk as it is though, that'd never work and surely it'd grow tiresome sooner or later.
Buggy decides to make his move the next time Cross Guild has a meeting. He waits patiently for Crocodile to finish going over all his plans as well as announce any progress the newly formed group has already made, remaining silent the entire time so he doesn't annoy Crocodile any. After Crocodile wraps everything up, Buggy quickly clears his throat and speaks up before Mihawk or Crocodile can leave, "Uh," he mutters, his voice trembling slightly, "Can I talk to you guys about something?"
At the sound of his request, Mihawk and Crocodile turn towards Buggy and narrow their eyes at him, giving him a judgmental look. Neither of the two say anything but the look they have on their faces says it all: 'What now, clown?'
Buggy chuckles and finds himself growing uneasy by the other two's hardened glares. He shifts in his spot slightly before continuing, "So, uh... look, guys. I'm just going to come out and say it. I know you're probably thinking I'm being so annoying by constantly trying to be you guy's friend but I want you to know I'm really trying my best here!" He states and afterwards he tries to read Mihawk and Crocodile’s expressions, but there's not much he can decipher about their mood.
They look as irritated as usual.
"I don't want to fight with you guys all the time or have you guys hate me or anything like that!" Buggy explains, "Look, everything has pretty much been out of my control. I don't know why everyone thinks I'm the boss or whatever, but I never wanted that spotlight and I still don't. What I really want is for us all to get along and for Cross Guild to be successful!"
Mihawk and Crocodile continue to stare Buggy down, but they're silent. No bitter insults, no rejections, no fighting. Just silence. The two don't even leave the room immediately or tell Buggy to go away. Perhaps this is them willing to finally give Buggy a chance? "I'll just go ahead and say I'm sorry if I've made you two mad or offended you in the past. I promise I can change and that I can be someone useful to you, so... Uh, can we maybe give being friends a chance?" He asks, giving them both a sheepish grin.
There's a long pause after Buggy finishes speaking, and with every passing second, he can feel his anxiety growing in his body. This is the first time that he's actually been listened to by either men, and this really feels like his one and only chance to make things right.
The three of them don't even have to be best friends, Buggy just doesn't want to be constantly threatened or beaten up, but if they could develop a close relationship that would be perfect because Buggy realizes with his newfound status as emperor of the sea he needs all the allies he can get. "Uh, what do you guys think?" Buggy asks when Mihawk and Crocodile fail to answer him.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Crocodile asks and then afterwards he begins to laugh. His loud, mocking laughter booms throughout the meeting room and Buggy's ears, "I already told you this, but I guess you forgot. I don't need no friends, especially useless ones like you." He tells Buggy, and it's like a stab to the chest. "How would being friends with you benefit me? You're penniless and weak, and you can't do even the simplest task. The only thing that you have going for you is your status as an emperor, but to tell you the truth, I don't care about that."
Buggy's face begins to heat up and he wants to argue. He wants to tell Crocodile that he definitely isn't a useless clown like he's always saying he is. Buggy has done so much in his lifetime and yet everyone always underestimates and belittles him. Buggy isn't weak and useless, there are people out there who actually fear and or admire him.
"Your title really is just for show," Crocodile chuckles, "You're nothing compared to Red-Haired Shanks or Blackbeard. Hell, you're not even on the same level as that brat with the straw hat."
Being compared to the other emperors of the sea makes Buggy want to scream. Okay, but... He's at a loss for words. His pride is telling him to fight back and not let Crocodile put him down like this, but another part of him is saying that Crocodile’s right.
No, no, that's not right. Buggy's accomplished too. He traveled the Grandline as a child, he studied under dark king Rayleigh... He took over Orange Town... he... he almost executed Monkey D. Luffy, the same Monkey D. Luffy Crocodile is comparing him to, in Loguetown... He.... He was in the war...(not that he fought in it.)... He started Buggy's delivery service... He...
Maybe he didn't defeat a previous emperor for their spot and maybe he's not always causing a stir like the other three are, but... Buggy’s done things too, and it's not fair to compare him to the other three...even if his status does seem more or less like a fluke sometimes.
Buggy bites his bottom lip, "You haven't given me a chance to prove myself," he says, but for some reason, he doesn't deny Crocodile’s previous statements...maybe he is right. "I've purposely been lying low and doing my own thing. I-"
Crocodile cuts him off, "Bullshit. You haven't been lying low, you just can't do anything. You're useless both as a leader and as a potential friend. In fact, the only reason why I haven't snapped your neck is because Hawkeye here thinks you're a good little distraction." He snorts, "But the government hasn't tried to attack us yet, so who knows? Maybe you can't even keep a few measly Marines distracted."
Buggy takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm. He should have realized trying to be Crocodile's friend was pointless. He’s such a cruel, foul mouthed man who cares about nobody but himself. He doesn't want a loving supportive friend, he wants someone he can boss around and use for his schemes. If you don't prove your worth to him, you're useless...
Crocodile’s thought process goes against everything Gol D. Roger taught Buggy to believe in. Buggy’s former captain always told him that a friend is someone you should love, appreciate, and support unconditionally. Our friends may not be related to us by blood, but they’re just as important as family and should be cherished as such because life is so short. A friend is someone who you can depend on and won’t judge you or leave you behind during your toughest battles. It doesn’t matter how rich, smart, or powerful your friends are, what’s important is their heart and character.
Eh… Now that he thinks about it, his beloved former captain was always a bit cheesy and sentimental, but that’s besides the point. Buggy wouldn’t treat Crocodile as if he were just some pawn in a scheme or some glorified bodyguard. He doesn’t need Crocodile to prove his worth (but it certainly isn’t bad that he’s a well-known and very powerful pirate), and Crocodile shouldn’t need Buggy to prove his worth either, that’s not how a genuine friendship works. Whatever, though. Buggy’s over trying to be friends with that self centered prick.
Buggy forces himself to look away from Crocodile and turns to Mihawk. He swallows hard, "...Hawkeye," he calls out in a small voice, and, oh, how he hates how vulnerable he sounds right now. "You don't feel the same way, do you?" He asks, clinging onto hope that Mihawk really is the lesser of two evils.
Mihawk remains quiet for another painfully long moment before finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting ended, "More or less." He says in a cold, blunt voice. Oh, of course he feels the same way as Crocodile, Buggy thinks bitterly. "I won't waste my breath belittling you, but I don't need any friends either." Ah, that's Dracule Mihawk for you, he's always so cruel and direct.
"Okay, we don't have to be friends." Buggy states, looking between both of his fellow members of Cross Guild, "But could we at least treat each other with respect?!" He begs, more than willing to settle at this point.
The laugh that Crocodile lets out when Buggy asks him to do something as simple as give him a little respect is disheartening to say the least. "You actually think I'd respect a gutless coward like you?" He mocks.
"I..."
"Get fucking real!"
"I...I…" is all Buggy manages to stammer out because he feels more embarrassed than before. Crocodile treats him like he's nothing but a tacky, piece of gum here for him to chew up and spit out when he's ready.
Somehow Mihawk's reaction is the same as Crocodile’s but different. He raises an eyebrow at Buggy, and if Buggy had to guess he'd say Mihawk's probably thinking something along the lines of: 'ME? Respect you? Respect is something you earn, and you definitely haven't earned my respect.'
"Forget it." Buggy mutters, "I'm just going to get back to work." He tells the other two men before lowering his head and rushing out of the meeting room. As he leaves he can hear Crocodile continue to mock him: "Did you hear that shit, Hawkeye?!"
Okay, Fuck them. Fuck Cross Guild. Fuck Buggy too for being so stupid and for even trying to be on good terms with Mihawk and Crocodile. It's been blatantly obvious from the start that Mihawk and Crocodile want nothing to do with him. He doesn't know why he even tried fixing their relationship, they were never going to be three people who got along.
This isn't the Oro Jackson and he's not dealing with someone like Shanks, nor is he dealing with a random stranger or even a member of his own crew. He should have realized all his efforts would go in vain and that Crocodile and Mihawk came to the island with a deep-seated hatred and lack of respect for Buggy embedded in them already. Whatever, it's fine. Buggy's not mad or upset or even disappointed. He's completely fine.
Why would the great and mighty Captain Buggy The Clown let two assholes like Mihawk and Crocodile determine his worth? Why would he let them get to him? He hasn't, he's fine. He's totally fine and he doesn't care what happens moving on. He'll just try his best to coexist with Mihawk and Crocodile and try not to get on their bad sides or whatever.
He says that he wants to live peacefully among Crocodile and Mihawk, and yet he does the one thing he probably shouldn't. He finds someone to angrily vent to, Cabaji and Mohji always listen to him without judging him and they always offer up the upmost support and advice, but Buggy doesn't need advice. He just needs to rant, and so maybe that's why as soon as he sees his two most trusted crew-mates, he disregards his current location and begins to air all of his grievances about both Mihawk and Crocodile.
Buggy's mouth runs a mile a minute as insults, complaints, and anything you can think of come flying from between his painted lips. He tells the two other men how frustrated he is that Crocodile and Mihawk just can't play nice, and how they think they're the boss of him and can push him around. He tells them that they're both so stuck up and rude that it's unbelievable and that he's never met two people as insufferable as Mihawk and Crocodile. "I really tried!" He complains, throwing his hands up.
At this point his face is beet red and he's more furious than he'd like to be. "But nothing I do makes them happy!" He tells Mohji and Cabaji for what has to be the hundredth time. The two try and calm Buggy down but at this point he's a lost cause. "Can you believe they're acting this way? And for what reason? Because the world government made me an emperor and not them? Because they're stuck in some shitty organization with me? I didn't ask for any of this!" He tells them as his voice continues to steadily rise.
"But whatever. I don't care." Buggy laughs bitterly.
"Capt-"
"No, seriously I don't give a fuck anymore! I'm done trying to be nice to those two assholes. They said they don’t do friends, but is that the real truth? Do they not have friends because they don’t trust anyone and they’re too stuck up, or is it because they're both two insufferable assholes who no one wants to be friends with in the first place? I mean, really, who’d want to be their fucking friend? They’re two extremely bitter old men who can’t hold a conversation let al-"
"Captain Buggy..." Mohji calls out in a shaky voice, but Buggy continues to rant and rave about how much he hates the situation he's in. He hates that the world government takes him seriously and considers him to be a big enough threat to be an emperor of the sea, but that Mihawk and Crocodile think he's some weak, small time pirate. He was fine being just an errand boy before but now he's genuinely frustrated that Mihawk and Crocodile see him as beneath them and won’t treat him as an equal. "What gives those assholes the right?!"
"C..Captain..." Cabaji and Mohji stammer out at the same time. There's an intense look of fear on both of their faces that Buggy failed to realize before. He stops his rant long enough to give them both a confused look, "...What?" He asks, and when his two crew-mates gesture to something behind him with their heads, Buggy realizes just how badly he fucked up in an instant.
Buggy inhales a deep, shaky breath. Please tell me they aren't standing behind me. He thinks, about ten seconds away from pleading with the universe to just cut him some slack for once in his miserable life. Of course, though, Buggy has nothing but worst luck. In fact if he didn't have the most vile, atrocious luck imaginable, he probably wouldn't have any luck at all.
Buggy slowly looks over his shoulder and his stomach drops. He really has no luck at all, but perhaps this has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with the fact that Buggy foolishly trash talked Mihawk and Crocodile as soon as he got the chance to and in public.
Mihawk is the first to speak, "No, don't let us interrupt you. We want to hear more of what you have to say, Buggy The Clown." He tells him in an eerily calm voice, "By all means. Please elaborate why you think that we're insufferable and stuck up some more."
Buggy doesn't even know what he should say at this point. He laughs nervously, "Hawkeye....Crocodile...when did you two get here?" He asks, feeling like he's seconds away from hurling. Actually now that he thinks about it, maybe it's better if he doesn't know when Crocodile and Mihawk came and how much they heard.
Buggy realizes he's in deep shit, but he still takes a step back and raises his arms up in the air, "Oh, you know I didn't mean any of that stuff, you guys. I'm a clown, remember?" He laughs but no one laughs with him, "I like to joke around! I didn't really mean all those things, I was just joking..." he lies, feeling trapped.
"I for one didn't find your little joke amusing." Mihawk says and Buggy can notice the subtle shift in his expression and how irate he looks with him right now. "Did you, Crocodile?" He asks.
Crocodile's expression isn't any better, in fact it's ten times worse because Crocodile never hides his emotions, especially not ones like anger. "Of course i didn't." He replies with another mocking laugh, and it's at this point that Buggy realizes that he probably shouldn't try to talk to them anymore and that he should instead just run away.
So that's what he does, he takes off in a sprint, trying to put as much distance between him and Mihawk and Crocodile as possible even though he knows that it's pointless. He can't outrun Mihawk, the world’s strongest swordsman is too fast, but even if he could, he still has another man after him. Crocodile may not be as fast as Hawkeye, but he’s good at cornering Buggy and trapping him in a cloud of sand, and Buggy knows that he’s no match for either of them no matter how much he runs, ducks, and hides.
They catch Buggy with ease and once they do, they unleash all their anger, frustration, and pure hatred on Buggy. Their assault isn't just physical, it's verbal as well, of course it is. Crocodile and Mihawk’s cold, cruel words hurt a lot more than their fists do sometimes, depending on what’s being said, and Buggy finds himself quickly feeling overwhelmed as tears pour from his eyes.
"I knew you were just spouting a bunch of bullshit in the meeting room." Crocodile hisses as he punches him for what has to be the tenth time, and Buggy wishes he were exaggerating when he says that. Crocodile’s wrong, though, Buggy was being one hundred percent genuine when he said he wanted them all to get along and treat each other with respect, it's just that he grew frustrated with Mihawk and Crocodile’s constant rejection and coldness towards him.
What else was he supposed to do? How else was he supposed to feel? He’s hurt and frustrated, can’t they see that? Buggy tries several times to explain himself, but it’s no use, Mihawk and Crocodile just continue to beat his face in and mock his every cry and scream until they finally get tired and storm away, leaving Buggy to lie on the ground a clobbered mess.
Buggy’s entire soul feels shattered into pieces as he lie there, crying his eyes out. Mohji and Cabaji rush over to his side just as soon as Crocodile and Mihawk leave (He never expected them to intervene and if they did, it’d only cause more pain for him.) “Oh my god, captain, are you okay?” Cabaji asks.
No.
Buggy doesn’t have the heart to respond to the question and the moment he realizes that Cabaji and Mohji are be his side, he tries to hold back all his pain and suffering. They sit him up gently and tell him that they’re going to get him all patched up and softly mutter how much they hate Crocodile and Mihawk just as much as Buggy does, and how Buggy is so brave and strong for putting up with them.
…Is he, though?
Buggy doesn’t feel very brave and strong, he feels like a loser who has no control over his life, but he doesn’t tell Cabaji and Mohji that, how the hell could he?
Things become more hostile between Buggy and Crocodile and Mihawk after that. It seems that his one little slip-up was enough to make Mihawk and Crocodile’s disdain for him grow ten times worse, but then again, maybe it doesn’t matter what Buggy said or did. Maybe things would have always ended up like this, after all Mihawk and Crocodile have absolutely no respect or sympathy for Buggy.
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what I love most about your 666 vox is that even though he and alastor make an olympic sport out of bending the boundaries of "safe and sane" sex, he seems to VERY firmly believe in the "consensual" part... him letting go of alastor the SECOND he uses his safe word, holding himself back when alastor can't handle touch during his rut, all that stuff. so what would his reaction be if the events of bus stop happened in the same verse and he learned about what valentino did? I know you mentioned it in another ask before but it's been rotating in my mind for days lol - ✨
Alright, y'all get the long and serious answer for this one! >:) Buckle up, buttercups! And thank you SO much for your kind words! <3
I genuinely think that Vox is a fairly shitty person who does not typically particularly care about the violation of consent. He is so free not just with lying, selling spyware, and enabling enabling Valentino, but also with dominating people's will with his hypnosis in his introduction. I think that, if anything, he gets a power trip out of it and he sees what Valentino does, generally, as an extension of that! They're the Vees! They're powerful, they're winning, they have Pentagram City wrapped around their fingers!
However, in 666, his view of Alastor and the fact that Alastor lets him do things is obsessive and borderline worshipful, in, like, a fucked up sadomasochistic way! 666 is written from Alastor's POV so you get to see a lot of his own emotional progression with regard to how he views Vox, but on Vox's end, he's also seeing Alastor differently. He would not be able to genuinely think that he's fallen in love with Alastor if he wasn't able to get past being worshipfully infatuated with him first. He's still obsessive, but especially after O.T.O Special 6.66, Now Streaming: The Birds and the Bees, Natural Wonders! (aka. the rut fic, I know, my fucking titles—) where Alastor starts offering Vox more genuine vulnerability without the looming threat of his shadow, he sees Alastor as more of an actual person rather than a celebrity figure to fight or fuck or both.
Which means that, before Vox made that transition, he would probably be pissed that Valentino ruined his chances to get up to more shit with Alastor. He is very careful with regards to Alastor's consent in the first two installations of 666 because he's extremely aware of how easily Alastor could withdraw it, and how little Vox could do about that. He's not willing to lose Alastor after the taste he's finally had! He's practically manic about finally getting what he wants!
After he's developed more genuine feelings for Alastor (and Alastor has moved solidly into being one of the relatively few people that Vox registers as not just being an NPC or untouchable raid boss in his life), he would be... absolutely fucking mortified, I think. The empathy would fucking suck! That's why he prefers not to have it for most people!
But the thing is, he also loves Val. He has history with Val. And he knows what Val is like. I think he would be less actually, genuinely, overtly angry at Valentino in this scenario than he would have been if he'd just seen Val as ruining his big break with Alastor. He'd make a show of it, sure, but how the hell can he really blame Valentino when he genuinely wouldn't have given (has never given) half of a shit if it had actually been Angel Dust?
And he also knows what Alastor is like. I think his decision would be forced by the fact that despite what happened, Alastor is alive and Valentino is very much about to not be. In a triage situation, one of those people is by default a higher priority.
Alastor, of course, would never forgive that. He would also never forgive the fact that Vox knows what happened—and knows it in a universe where Alastor had dared allow Vox liberties and slowly, eventually, trusted him not to abuse them.
Like I said! It would absolutely nuke the relationship, and I think Alastor would put a great deal of effort into turning all of V Tower and its inhabitants, likely especially Vox, even moreso than Valentino, into so much rubble and a wet smear on the ground.
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Chase the Memory of it Still
Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe
this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.
Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine
Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough.
“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms.
“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat?
“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.
He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles.
“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce.
He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting.
He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne.
It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now.
“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort.
Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite.
“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin.
“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes.
“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.
“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch.
“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry.
Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself.
“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.
“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne.
“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“
“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce.
“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”
Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room.
“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense.
“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature.
“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought.
“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”
“You have a plan?”
“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“
Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it.
He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne.
“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.
“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face.
“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.
For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him.
Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow.
“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing.
“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs.
“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this.
“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath.
“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“
“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat.
“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance.
“Well, staring isn’t—“
Clark kisses him breathless.
Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers.
Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be.
“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there.
“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half.
“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away.
“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.
……..
“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table.
“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.
They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish.
“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag.
“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile.
“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up.
The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it.
“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs.
“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.
“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.
“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’.
“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.
Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands.
“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real.
A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.
“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart.
“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh.
“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves.
“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash.
“Why do it then? Why pretend?”
“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes.
“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce.
He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder.
“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming.
“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns.
A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe.
“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.
“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“
“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex.
“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.”
“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts.
“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little.
“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”
“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it.
“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun.
“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass.
“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks.
“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night.
“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper.
“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress.
“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze.
“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part.
“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny.
“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare.
“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“
That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage.
“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space.
“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode.
“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor.
“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.
“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.
“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down.
“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing.
Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.
When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes.
“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.
“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back.
“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway.
“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso.
“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it.
“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.
Of course he’s wearing comms.
“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver.
“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.
“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.”
Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close.
“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face.
“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.”
“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?”
Clark tries to summon ‘that’, whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway.
“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.
“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.
“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears.
“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets.
“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs.
“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up.
“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths.
“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up.
Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that.
“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.
“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs.
“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache.
“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.
“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura.
“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him.
Bruce squeaks.
“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket.
Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle.
Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free.
“No way.” Clark beams.
“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight.
“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort.
“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons.
“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers.
“Mmm, I disagree.”
“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms.
“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear.
“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.
“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana.
…
“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune.
“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires.
“Whatcha got over there?”
“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further.
“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it.
“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”
“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“
Superman knocks him out before he can finish.
…
“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move.
”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair.
“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp.
“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin.
“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”
He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.
“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it.
“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right.
“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment.
“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button.
“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat.
“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target.
“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point.
“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair.
Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.
“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious.
“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls.
“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror.
“What?” No going back now.
“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy.
Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done?
“I—“
“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable.
“Maybe?” Clark swallows.
Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—
Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory.
“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders.
Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists.
He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl.
“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips.
“Again, I have a few pointers—“
This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide.
“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist.
Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen.
The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself.
“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently.
“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue.
When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own.
Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line.
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hi, devon. i’m a very socially anxious white autistic person who has been quite active in protests and some related events and actions the last couple of months. i really agree with your opinions on how white supremacy can shift our focus away from community, but i find it nearly impossible to actively parttake in community. i show up with a mindset of actively contributing but feel paralyzed when faced with the chance. i don’t really know how to make social connections in general, but i so badly want to contribute to community. i think white guilt kinda plays into things as well and that makes me so ashamed and then i spiral. ik it’s a lot but do you have advice on navigating a deep urge and feeling of responsibility (as it pretty much is my responsibility as someone who wants to fight for liberation) but feeling paralyzed whenever a chance to connect actually presents itself? i always end up fumbling and unintentionally rejecting people who try to connect w me as well. i used to be very politically active as a teen but that was through organisations with a lot of structure which enabled me to feel more able. i do whatever actions i can, but being hindered by my inability to form connections makes me worried i won’t be able to end up in the communities that fight for liberation in the long haul. i’m ready to this this for the rest of my life, but not alone.
I understand this feeling so much. Please keep at it. One of the biggest problems with the white supremacy brain disease is that it expects us to do more & more quickly than is reasonable or helpful to expect of a person. So it is very likely you are beating yourself up for not speaking up, for not jumping in to offer help, and for not asserting yourself to the degree that you think that you "should," but in reality many of those efforts would be misplaced or self-defeating if you were to embark on them right now. This is a long journey, and white supremacy culture believes in urgency above all things too, and so it's important for you to give yourself some grace as well as to accept that progress for you will be a long haul, and that's okay.
Many people have told me that becoming even a neutral member of a community as a white person is an uphill battle. So many of our impulses and the social tools that we wield actively destroy community. to learn to become a good community member, we have to listen and learn a lot, and keep showing up, and risk looking foolish, inert, useless, or whatever else we worst fear. If you're not doing much right now but still showing up, you might be a neutral member! That's a good start actually. Keep going.
Also try to keep an open heart and an open mind when people of color or longstanding members of the space challenge you, correct you, playfully tease you, or try to include you, even if it feels embarassing or like an attack -- it isn't an attack, but white supremacy brain will have you thinking that it is. If you read my essay Moments of Protest, I describe a moment like this at the Powwow I recently visited. Indigenous men singled me out, brought me into the dances, included me, taught me the moves, and gave me an award even tho I was doing a miserably bad job -- I was MORTIFIED and the white fragile person inside me wanted to run away and apologize for being so inept and never come there again. Instead, I pushed past my stupid ego and kept dancing and felt incredible gratitude in my heart. This kinda thing happens in a lot of POC-led activist spaces too. People will ask you your opinion, tell you how to contribute, correct you, include you, and it will humble you, and it will be scary at first, but do your best to just stick with it and stay present doing the thing, even if you feel red-faced and guilty. Slowly you will get more used to it and you don't reflexively withdraw or push people away. It took me no joke YEARS to get to this point. I used to flee instinctively or even be mad at people for bursting my self protective bubble. You can work through it.
A lot of my usual distress tolerance building advice also applies here (see my substack for more). But I think that if you are already showing up to actions a lot and are self-aware about it, you are on the right track. You just need to keep going. Attend organizing meetings, not just protests themselves if you can. Contribute your opinion when it is warranted. Don't beat yourself up for being silent sometimes and don't beat yourself up for disagreeing with people or having questions and your opinions. Accept conflict as a healthy form of intimacy and dont run away when a moment gets awkward. Just keep learning and retraining yourself and noticing the love that people show -- by offering food, by making jokes, by acknowledging your presence to make you feel welcome, by allowing you to be there and helping you to be a better version of yourself. we all have a long way to go in this work, but you can do it. you're already doing it! you got this.
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WIBTA if I broke up with a guy after learning that he is clinically depressed and has anxiety?
So rolling back in time, I (22f) met this guy (28m) through a work event. We hit it on really well, and started going out for chats & coffee soon after. I told him from the get go that I was ace and seemed decently chill with that despite not knowing much about it. I was pretty cautious since pretty much all my relationships have gone down the drain because of that (ie my being blamed for leading people on). Things were going decently well and slow paced until I had to go back home for a month (one of my parent's funeral).
Not surprisingly I haven't been in the best of moods and felt pretty much no interest to pick things back up when I came back. But in an attempt to not close off myself, I went back to chat with the guy. Which is where things came up that he is depressed (has been for the past 5 years following a burnout) in addition to having anxiety. While he's been going to therapy for a while, he's been in a slum most of this time (ie, not having progressed at work, very few friends, etc), which isn't helped by him having some substance issues. Overall this wouldn't be the end of the world but it makes him very needy which I absolutely hate (especially considering that I'm trying to fix my own problems). His neediness translates to him being very very affectionate (which, I don't mind? Just that I'm not a teddy bear) but also him really really wanting to help me since he has problems that he wants to share and therefore wants to return the favour. Thing is. I really don't want that? The support that he offers doesn't do much for me since I already have other methods of coping with my problems (including friends that I feel more comfortable chatting with). I realise that it might not be the healthiest but I'm not keen to open up and share problems when it doesn't help me.
So this leaves me in the situation where he haa very much fixated on me while I'm not willing to commit more effort to trying to help with his problems (the fact that he seemed to have his life together, only to not have done much over the past 3-5 years is really the issue). I can't really sustain a one way relationship + work has been extremely stressful and life has been kinda shitty (rather obviously). But I feel like an AH for dropping him the moment I learned that he had mental health issues.
So WIBTA for breaking up with him?
What are these acronyms?
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TLB Characters Favorite Type Of Blanket
A/N: I have no idea what this is or why I made it but I haven’t posted anything creative in so long. Yall ever love something but the thought of actually doing it makes you stressed? That’s what writing has been for the past couple months ugh :[ I miss it sm but I never like anything I end up making and keep deleting my progress. Oh well, hopefully I stop doing that soon and enjoy this pointless headcanon
ALSO: yes most these characters sleep upside down from the ceiling, but I like to ignore that bc tbh I want to erase the fact they have those weird ass feet. To me those monstrosities don’t exist. If you like the fact they hang from the ceiling then these headcanons are just for sitting on the couch or cuddling. They also don’t really feel temperatures but again I’m ignoring it:]
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DAVID
Duvet
A big fluffy one filled with cotton
He’d never tell anyone, but it makes him feel safer
It’s similar to one his mother gave him in his human life
He rolls it up like a cocoon
He doesn’t even leave a hole for his face bc he doesn’t need to breathe
Paul and Marko use this to their advantage and prank him atleast 2 times a month
Dwayne shoos them away if he notices them trying to bother David when he’s asleep
MARKO
This man is weird ngl
He just sleeps with a sheet
He doesn’t mind using a different blanket when sharing
But if he’s alone it’s a sheet
He doesn’t like feeling any weight on him when he’s asleep
Might as well sleep with nothing
But he also likes to cover his eyes with it
It’s just soothing to him
PAUL
Weighted blanket
He LOVES to cuddle with ppl bc of their weight being on him
So when no one wants to sleep with him he pulls out this blanket
The boys and Star made him a custom blanket bc he wants it to be HEAVY heavy
If he was human this thing would crush him to death
He sleep walks/flys and this stops him
He needs help getting it off of him bc he’s usually still too groggy to put in the effort when he wakes up
STAR
Patchwork Crochet Quilt
She made it herself
Everytime she finishes a new project she added a new square made up of all the colors she used
Whenever David would see her adding a square he said something like “another square? That’s gonna be a big ass blanket”
She stopped the blanket when it reached 80x80 4 inch squares
She realized that that is, infact, a big ass blanket
She can’t even fit the thing on her bed
Most of it is just hanging off the side
She started a new one to give to Michael
But that one is gonna be smaller
After that she’s just gonna make one for each boy
MICHAEL
Normally shares with Star
She doesn’t even notice he’s using it most of the time
Once it gets big enough he uses the one she made specifically for him
Uses David’s blanket when laying with him
But the fluffiness makes him feel trapped sometimes
Just holds on to David for comfort
Can occasionally convince star and David to sleep in the same bed with him and they use Star’s blanket obviously
He and David sleep under the sheets when using Star‘s blanket tho bc it’s a lil itchy
But she doesn’t seems to notice the itch
DWAYNE
I’m just gonna insert a picture bc idk what it’s called
But this kind of blanket^ along with Satin sheets underneath
He’s like Marko where he doesn’t like as much weight
But really likes making fun of Marko’s sheet and doesn’t want to be a hypocrite
If he’s cuddling with someone he puts their head under his chin and wraps them up together tightly
When alone he keeps the blanket lose
Just in case something happens and he needs to get up quickly and protect the pack
————————————————————————
•TAGS•
@crustyboypix @britany1997
if you want to be added to the tag list just let me know
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Hi~
I saw your post about how lolita fashion (and ads for it) have changed in the last few years, especially for Angelic Pretty, and I agree completely!
I think the lack of creative ads these days might be b/c Gothic & Lolita Bible isn't around anymore? (cries) and Kera went purely digital ages ago, I don't know if it's even still around (I should have kept my old Kera magazines). But I remember how I always used to look forward to seeing the clothes and layouts that were featured in the new issues of each magazine.
My favorite when I first got into lolita was from the Wedding issue of the English edition of GLB; a model for Baby was wearing a lovely, tulip print skirt (or was it the jsk?) in blue, holding a parasol and sitting at a cafe table. Something about her looked so sweet and simple; I wanted to be a lolita just like that!
The models in the magazines always looked like they were happy or having fun, which I think is part of what made me want certain dresses or blouses. In AP's current ads, the model just looks... kinda sad and pouty and bored. I've noticed that for a lot of their dresses, they've been skimping on the lace, frills, and ribbons, and there's no more cute hair styles either! Meanwhile, wasn't it AP that brought lolita from old school to New School / OTT sweet when they had models wearing pastel pink / blue wigs for their Mermaid Symphony (iirc) photoshoot back in 2007?
On a different, but kinda related note, I've noticed that in the past 5 years or so AP has been making a lot of dresses with ridiculously high waists.... also so many sack dresses (I know they started doing this back in like 2012 or so with that polka-dot M&M print dress)
Sorry for the long rant, I just really miss the old days of lolita fashion
hello there!
i'm always glad to have some feedback when i post rambles and thoughts on things. i never expect it, so thank you for your input! it's also comforting to know others feel the same way.
i agree that without as many publications in general (especially physical) there's less of a reason to put as much effort into details, like the magazine spreads that were commonly done for example. most people get information on releases online these days, making physical catalogs a bit obsolete.. aside from collectors. i greatly miss all of the graphics and how inspirational everything felt back then, especially the little PNG pictures of items in catalogs.
you're completely right about pictures from GLB's and other magazines looking generally "happier" and more like daily life sort of pictures, like the one in the cafe you mention. that aspect of it appealed greatly to lifestyle lolitas! seeing a dress pictured in a "real life" situation rather than just a plain white background photoshoot picture makes a huge difference. it brings it to life, and makes it a lot easier to see yourself wearing it.
i think a big change in marketing is that AP doesn't cater as much to lifestylers.. and lolitas who are very much interested in the fashion beyond a surface level and see them as more than just clothes. all of the photos now actually feel like advertisements, when they used to also be appealing from a photography perspective. like they're only trying to sell you a product and not an experience, even if only visual. for me, that takes away from it a lot.. it almost feels as though that sense of community, and the acknowledgement that lolita is a subculture, is dwindling.
plus, it's definitely more than just presentation that's changed as you said. i feel as though the designs AP offers have been super uninspired compared to old releases. not as many details, not as much custom lace, and the general silhouettes becoming a bit lazy.. tons more, but i could go on for days. even the revamp and progression of the lyrical bunny mascot has felt a bit soulless. very sad to see, because i do agree that they were the brand to introduce OTT sweet in a revolutionary way.
as much as i gripe about old vs new AP changes, the positive side is that we can still look back fondly on the old era!
and no problem at all! it was nice to hear another perspective on this. ^^
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let me spoil you - smutsgiving challenge
I cheated all the rules and brought a sneak peak of a WIP to the smutsgiving. Enjoy <3
Pairing: dark!Luke Skywalker x rebel!Reader (not really that relevant, we're going straight in for the fun
Wordcount: 609
CW: shameless smut. Minors DNI
***
Hell, she can’t remember the last time she thought of herself as a good person, back when she was so eager to struggle for reasons she can’t even remember anymore. Acting in hopes of making her dead master proud, like he could see her, feel foolish now. However, there’s one thing she misses from her past righteous little self, and that’s knowing how to fight. Yeah, perhaps she was too hard on herself back then. Maybe she was good. However, that illusion fades as she voices this one command.
"Put your hands against the wall.”
It isn’t wise and she hates herself for it. However, her common sense has been taken captive by the lovely confusion blooming on Luke’s face. “You can either do it or wait for me to change my mind."
That candid expression she’d missed so much in him dissolves into a bratty smirk. "Yes, ma'am."
She doesn’t appreciate the attitude, not when she’s this angry. There’s a second when he’s with his back turned to her, handcuffed wrists against the wall of the cell, that she considers listening to reason and leaving. Instead, the challenge becomes appetizing. Afraid to let her doubt be read, she steps closer. Luke inhales sharply as she reaches around and, carefully at first, palms over his trousers. She quickly finds what she’s come looking for.
“Is this your usual reaction whenever you come chasing after me? No wonder you put so much effort in hunting me down.”
Luke shudders when she presses on his erection more boldly this time, a reaction that betrays a prolonged aching. Exactly what she needs to hastily undo the fastenings, eager to make most of the little time they might have for this. The rebel gives a generous lick to her palm before sliding it into his pants, while her other hand tugs down on the waistband of his underwear before digging her fingers in his hip. She rubs wet circles around the sensitive head of his cock, already painfully swollen and pink, and takes delight in the soft whimper she gets in response to her slightly aggressive and sudden attentions. But she decides to be merciful and softens the touch with the first stroke down the full length. She intends for this to be quick but she still wants to enjoy it a little.
“Here I come to talk business while your thoughts drift somewhere else entirely,” she teases. Luke hums something that’s meant to sound like an apology. “Don’t worry about it, I got you. Next time, just ask.”
While he leans against the wall, he can get a good view of everything she’s doing. It’s only fair, since she loves to watch his enthralled face progressively let go of that initial put together facade he exhibited at first, the red deepening across his cheeks and his eyes brimming with filthy pleas, like he doesn’t believe this is happening to him.
Suddenly, a gloved hand grabs her collar and brings her up, her back hitting the wall. Before she can protest her lips meet his, needy and warm and sloppy, as his palms cup her cheeks, one burning hot and the other cool.
“Please, love. Faster,” Luke begs through the tiny gap he allows. The rebel melts at the sight of need painted in his glossy eyes, at being held so sweetly after so long, and realizes that she can’t get angry at him.
“That’s it. Ask me anything,” as she happily complies, her hand dancing with soft movements of his hips, a low moan forms from the back of his throat. “I can’t get enough of your pretty face when you do.”
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27/08/2023
So now that Gilded Shadows is wrapping up, I am promoting When Stars Collide from "Spare time project" to "Part time project"
What is the difference? Well, when I work on something in my spare time, that means it is late at night or the weekend. Literally when I am not doing anything else and just feel like tinkering with it.
As a part time project, this means that I will be spending an hour or two each day during the work week to do things for this project. It will start making more steady progress even if I'm not focusing on it full time.
This is basically taking it from me spending 0 - 4 hours on it a week to 8-10 hours on it a week.
My goal is to have the draft complete before the end of the year (by 'draft', I mean 'rough draft'). But more on that below.
Summary
Finished all scenes for the new chapter three
Finished Yren chapter 6 scenes
Started catching Kav's route up to the others
Edited Asher's CG to account for the new conference room BG
Small adjustments to Wil's first CG
Ramble
This week my big focus for WSC has been on writing. As I mentioned, I really want to get the rough draft completed by the end of the year. Currently the draft is nearly 70% complete (for those following updates in multiple places, when you see different percentages....it's because I've written more since then. Rofl).
Now, the draft was nearly 70% in the past as well but I added another route since then, so I lost some progress due to the increase in target word count. I'm also calculating things more precisely now as I created a newer and fancier writing spreadsheet to track my progress and keep myself on track.
I went back and wrote in the new chapter 3, reorganising all the existing chapters and scenes to accommodate it.
I finished Yren chapter 6 (which catches him up to Noel and Raif).
And now I'm working on catching Kav, the new character, up to Yren, Noel, and Raif. (Remember, Daaz and Asher's routes are already fully drafted).
I have written about 15000 words since my last update here. I don't expect to write that much every week and my goal is actually a fair bit more modest than that. Gilded Shadows is not 100% complete yet. I still have multiple KS related things to finish and, of course, I will be making corrections and focusing on its beta testing once testers have had a bit more time with it.
WSC is still a part time project. This was just a particularly good week for it.
I have also worked on a few other things for WSC - mostly UI related and some art related things.
I received a new BG since my last update, and realised that...I have to revamp all the existing CGs. Or at least update them to change the background elements. I've only edited one so far but I don't think it'll be too much effort to fix the others.
And I continue to streamline and adjust the UI to make it look nicer and be more efficient.
So...
Kav. The new character. Kav'isari Tiaine, a Ka'mérian crew member who works in the space labs most of the time and specialises in identifying alien technology (what species it belongs to and what it does).
To explain where Kav came from, he actually popped into my head months ago. And every so often, I would contemplate whether or not I wanted to add him. I would say I first had the idea in January or February of this year. I would repeatedly think about it and dismiss it.
I then mentioned it to a friend sort of off-handedly back at the very beginning of June. A month and a half later, I mentioned him on a voice call on my server knowing full well that if I really talked about him and had a conversation about him, I would probably end up doing enough character brainstorming that he would become "real." And I talked about him anyway.
And that's exactly how he became an actual character. I think I had his sprite sketched out by the end of that day.
But he had existed as a concept long before that. The main reason I was willing to add him instead of ruthlessly telling myself no is just that I felt there was a gap in the cast for a gadfly style character who has a little mystery to him. And I just knew I could manage another route based on the length of Asher and Daaz's routes.
So...yeah. That is how Kav came into being. His introduction into the story has caused a few minor changes to standing lore or things in the prologue (just mentions of him, etc). But the changes to the currently public content of the game are pretty minor.
Kav won't actually appear in the game until Chapter 3. He gets mentioned a few times up to that point. There are some logistical considerations to his route but I have talked about those more on Patreon.
Speaking of Patreon, now that WSC is moved into "part time" status, I will be starting to slowly release some Patreon-exclusive lore posts for this game there. Like most games monetised through Patreon content, the lore posts will not be critical to having a full and complete game experience. Rather, it is going to be comprised of additional and extra lore content.
Some of the lore content released on Patreon will be in the game (such as character back stories) but Patrons will get to see it early and will get it presented in a different format.
Much of the content can be considered "extras" rather than necessary.
I will also be updating on the development progress weekly there (available to all patrons) rather than bi-weekly, and my updates there (going forward) will tend to be more detailed than the ones here.
Once episode releases start, Patrons will be able to access them before they the public releases. But backing on Patreon is not necessary to be able to play the game and get a full and complete game experience. It's just how this particular game will be monetised as I'm looking for more sustainable release styles so I can continue to make games.
That is all for this update. I will see you in a couple of weeks to talk about WSC again!
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